Hard Days
by Fluffy Nutty Fluffer Nutter
Summary: Duo decides he can no longer be left alone with his memories. He calls on an old acquaintance to relive a life he both misses and regrets.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Hard Days

**Author**: Fluff

**Fandom**: Gundam Wing

**Pairing**: eventual 2 x 3

**Warnings**: Some vague spoilers

**Summary**: Duo decides he can no longer be left alone with his memories. He calls on an old acquaintance to relive a life he both misses and regrets.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is copyrighted to its lawful owners.

**Hard Days**

**Chapter 1**

By Fluff

It was one of those days, those days where you can feel the cold in your lungs and wind sucks your breath out of you as soon as you step outside. The streets were dry, not a hint of snow, but that wind, that howling sting across your face as you tried to sink further into your scarf, it just kept blowing, reminding you that winter indeed was here, and it was here to stay for as long as it damn well pleased.

Summer was just a pleasant memory, a distant thing so far away you could barely taste the word on your lips as you prayed for sunshine, for warmth over ice and blue fingertips. Summer was gone, gone like the tides and the wars and the machines that once ruled the world. Gone, too, were the familiar faces, the awkward camaraderie formed tentatively between children - formed because they didn't know any better. Friends? Loved ones? No, never. They just knew classmates, killmates, buddies who would save your ass one minute, break your gut the next. They knew ghosts of the past, betrayers and lost guardians, traitors to the heart and soul.

And now they, too, went without heart and soul. The five soldiers who saved mankind, who killed and were killed, if only in spirit, turned into the stoic machines they once commanded. Eyes became dull, speech became automatic, motions became mechanical. Movement no longer mocked human motion - except in the cold, when that wind howled.

* * *

Duo curled his fingers up around the collar of his jacket, trying his best to keep the icy breeze from his neck. He reminisced blandly about the stagnant weather of the colonies, the manmade sunshine and processed temperatures. One wouldn't go so far as to say he missed the mediocrity of the colonies' weather, but he most certainly had a preference for staying warm.

Duo was a creature of comforts. He liked worn blankets and chipped mugs and fraying towels. He hated newness, the starkness of a crisp dish, the sparkle of polished silverware. Duo knew that new things were potentially dangerous, and therefore shied away from anything with the barest hint of fresh life.

Perhaps, then, that was what led him to an old village on the top of the earth, tucked away on an island in the ocean. He liked this town, paved with tan and gray cobblestones, those streets lined with little bakeries and trinket shops. In this town existed no conflict, save for a price haggled over at the general store once or twice a week. It was peaceful here, quiet, restful, nothing like Duo had ever known.

Not once in his new life in this place had he needed to dodge a bullet or fight for his existence. Never did he run into a face he was afraid to see, nor did he feel uneasy when he went to the local pub to nurse a pint quietly in the company of perfect strangers.

This was Duo's utopia. Yet, he knew something was missing. Nothing here was familiar, nothing smelled of nor felt like things he knew once upon a time. There were no old war buddies to exchange terrifying stories with, to say, "Hey, remember that time when I tried to shoot you? Yeah, those were the days..."

Duo didn't really talk much anymore. He didn't have anything to say, not to the peaceful people of this quaint little town, at any rate. So, even though he was in his own Eden, Duo was unhappy. He missed stuff, like his Gundam and Quatre and causing explosions. It was this sense of loss, then, that brought him one day to contact an old acquaintance, the only one who was not only fairly easy to track, but also available to shoot the shit because life sometimes didn't have anything better to offer.

Truthfully, Duo didn't know very much about Trowa Barton. Sure, he knew Trowa worked in the circus with knives and sharp teeth, and he also knew Trowa was somewhat friendly with Quatre and liked coffee. But what Duo could say he honestly knew about Trowa was that he was a soldier who went through two painful wars, who killed countless numbers of faceless warriors fighting for their own causes. Duo knew that Trowa was unhappy with his current life, because Trowa was always unhappy. Duo had never seen him smile or heard him laugh, and only a truly empty, miserable person could not smile or laugh.

So Duo had tracked him down, after being refused politely by the ever-busy Quatre, finding the circus through its ads. Trowa hadn't seemed surprised to hear from Duo, but then again, Trowa had never seemed surprised by anything. Perhaps that was why Duo had sought him out: Trowa was, if nothing else, perfectly predictable.

Duo continued walking down the cobblestone streets, breathing shallowly to keep the cold out. His fingers were raw and red from the wind, and they clutched desperately at his collar to keep it closed. Why he had offered to meet Trowa at the pub was beyond him - it would have made more sense to give his guest his address and have Trowa trudge through the cold instead. But Duo was protecting himself, perhaps on instinct, by not revealing his homestead immediately.

It was an effort to wrench open the pub's door against the gusty winds, and as soon as he fell over the jamb, Duo breathed deeply, warming his insides with the smell of hops and cigarettes.

The Lain Lamb was a quiet place, not a host to bar brawls or drunken foolishness. Duo assumed that the owner was devoutly Christian, naming his livelihood for some Saviour who still hadn't shown up, after all this time. It bothered Duo to a degree: What would Sister Helen say about a pub being named after her God?

Duo often thought of Sister Helen, now that he had time to think. Without constantly running and fighting, he could spend hours reminiscing about and regretting things he would never again experience.

Trowa was sitting at an old wooden table, his hands wrapped around a mug spilling over with steam. His eyes were narrowed as he bent his head over the mug, and his nostrils flared with every breath. Looking at him, no one would have known that Trowa was like he was: No one would see a former soldier with a bloody resume; instead, they would only see a man nursing a chill innocently over a hot mug of thick chocolate.

Duo approached Trowa calmly, easily sliding himself into the chair opposite.

"Long time no see," Duo said mildly. He had a friendly smile on his face and stuck his hand out. Once Trowa shook it, Duo shouted his order to the tapsmaster.

"You never struck me as a winter person," Trowa said. "I figured you would have settled in the south and parked yourself on a beach."

"You and me both," Duo replied with a laugh. "But I don't know, there's something nice about this place. It's quiet."

"Another anomaly."

"I like to keep people on their toes," Duo said with a wink as the tapsmaster set a pint of dark ale in front of him.

"Apparently so," Trowa replied, blowing gently into his mug. "That would be why you decided to contact me after three years?"

"I got bored," Duo said with a shrug. "You're a clown, right? I figured you could provide some measure of entertainment for children of all ages."

"I believe it's more the knives flying at my head that rivets said children." Duo was slightly taken aback by Trowa's attempt at wry humour, but appreciated it nonetheless.

"I have knives."

"But can you aim?" Trowa raised his eyebrows over his mug, again leaning toward a lightheartedness Duo had never associated with Pilot 03.

"No," Duo replied dourly. "You'd lose an eye, or an ear. Not to say that wouldn't be a little welcomed excitement, but it'd make one hell of a mess."

"Am I here to bleed, or did you invite me to catch a permanent cold for another reason?" Trowa set his mug on the table in a professional manner and was suddenly all business. It seemed, to Duo, that Trowa's quota of buddy-buddiness had been filled for the moment.

"I needed to talk," he said, immediately regretting his word choice as Trowa grimaced. "What I mean," Duo amended, "is that I want to talk to someone who knows what it's like to wake up and be confused because you're not sitting in a big piece of metal."

"And you invited me to travel this far north ... for that." Duo had rarely heard inflection in Trowa's voice previously, but he was fairly certain that the tone of voice 03 used was meant to convey 'unimpressed'. "That's what telecommunication is for, I believe."

"It's not as easy to tune someone out when you're face to face," Duo said bitterly, taking a large gulp of his beer. This was not going how he had planned it - not that he had expected Trowa to offer him a couch to lie on and pour out all of his emotions in a tearful confession. What Duo had expected, though, and what Trowa seemed to be running low on, was patience. Understanding. Quiet boredom.

He certainly did not expect attitude.

"Do you want me to apologize and send you on your way?" Duo asked. "Neither'll happen, but you're free to leave."

"Say what you need to say," Trowa replied blandly, again raising his mug, perhaps to cover his face.

"Forget it," Duo ground out. He stood and tossed a few coins on the table. "That'll cover both of us." He turned to leave.

"If you expect me to come running after you, to propose that I must absolutely hear what you have to say before I leave, you're kidding yourself," Trowa said from behind his mug. "Either talk here, or not at all. I don't play the pity-Duo game." Duo spun to see very angry green eyes and was pinned in place. Now Duo understood why people could be afraid of an unarmed Trowa.

"Like I want to talk here," Duo snapped, trying desperately to keep his uneasiness from Trowa's stare to enter his voice. "We can go back to my place."

"Very well," Trowa replied, the anger suddenly gone, the personality vanished from his body like evaporated water. Duo was unnerved. "But if you cry, I'm leaving."

Duo quickly rethought his previous impression of Trowa: This man was, in no way, predictable.

* * *

Duo didn't like apartments. He liked houses because they had stairs, and he often parked himself on the broad-loomed steps leading upstairs to catch up on his reading.

He had bought his little cottage after restlessly moving from colony to colony, trying to find his place in the universe. After not discovering any measure of comfort in space, he decided to give Earth a try. And it was on Earth that he found his little cottage, crammed full of frayed towels and chipped mugs.

Trowa looked awkward standing in the doorway to Duo's house. He appeared to not know where to step, considering the slew of trinkets scattered all over the floor. Duo, too late, realized he should have cleaned after inviting someone to come visit.

"It's me," Duo said sheepishly, shrugging at the mess on the floor with a shy smile.

"I'm going to die here," Trowa said lightly, leaping gracefully over a stack of old photography magazines. "I'm going to trip on a pile of old mats and die." Duo quickly shoved said mats out of Trowa's path.

"I find it hard to throw things away," Duo said with no small measure of embarrassment. "They all mean something, in the end. They're all a place in time and a little memory." Trowa narrowed his eyes at his companion, though none of the anger from before showed. Instead, Trowa looked more confused than anything else.

"I think you care about the little things too much, Duo." Duo flinched when Trowa used his name.

"It's the little things that bring the most pleasure in life, right?" Duo had a hint of whimsy in his voice. He stooped to pick up an empty spool of thread. "Like, this used to be blue thread. I used it to sew up a favourite shirt of mine. Well, I tried to sew. I figured it couldn't be too hard."

"You had to throw the shirt out, didn't you?" That lightheartedness was back in Trowa's voice.

"Well, I did... but I didn't." Duo splayed his arms out. "That shirt's in here somewhere."

"Of course it is. Perhaps we can unearth a place to sit?"

* * *

After battling a pile of clothes and old newspapers, the couch was at last revealed. Duo had brewed some bitter European tea for himself and Trowa, to chase away the last of the cold, and they now sat, cradling their cups, neither knowing what to say.

"This is a nice house," Trowa said into his tea, perhaps not knowing what else to say. Duo could only assume that Trowa didn't want to press the issue and open up the Pandora's Box that was Duo's head.

"It's old," was all Duo had to say in reply. He was feeling awkward, suddenly regretting desperately his idea to invite Trowa back to his house, his safe haven. Trowa was, after all, newly discovered to be unpredictable, and while Duo was not afraid of being attacked, he knew what damage Trowa could do with words.

"You miss the war," Trowa suddenly said, causing Duo to blanch. Who, in his right mind, would miss a war? "You miss fighting, I mean," Trowa ventured on, setting his teacup precariously on the cluttered table in front of him. "You miss having a purpose."

"I have a purpose," Duo muttered, trying to calm down from Trowa's first accusation. "It's not nearly on as grand a scale as it was before, but it's there."

"Collecting useless varia doesn't necessarily qualify as purpose," Trowa quipped, leaning back against the arm of the couch, facing Duo. "Drinking beer in a pub and mulling over the past isn't much of a purpose, either."

"And playing with lions is?" Duo snapped, getting angry. Who did Trowa think he was, anyhow, coming into Duo's home and telling him his life meant nothing?

"I never said I maintained a purpose after the wars," Trowa replied quietly, retrieving his tea from the table. A long silence passed between the two of them, Duo trying rapidly to figure out what, indeed, was wrong with Trowa and what head trauma as a child had made him so inept at pleasant and meaningful conversation.

"Catherine forced me to talk to a psychologist after Marimeia," Trowa continued, his voice very far away. "That psychologist referred me to a psychiatrist, and I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I'm on a cocktail of medications that make me more unstable and unhappier than I was when I was fighting." Duo noticed that Trowa seemed lost in his tea. Reading leaves, perhaps?

"Catherine made it routine for me to take those medications while we were together - she wanted to make sure I was taking them. She insisted, saying that my time in the wars had severely traumatized me, and that I needed some solace. That solace, she said, was in those little pills.

"I stopped taking them last night, before I got on my flight." Trowa hung his head, and waved one hand in the air, as if dismissing something. "That's my explanation, Duo, for being unreasonable. You can stop tensing like I'm going to go berserk on you, now, and say what you need to say." Trowa raised his head, then, and their eyes met. Duo felt an overwhelming sadness creep into his gut like the cold outside. Trowa, ever stoic and strong and emotionless, was admitting to being a diagnosed basketcase and dependent on prescription medication.

Duo's sadness soon turned to anger.

"Bipolar my ass," he hissed, narrowing his eyes at Trowa. "Why the hell did you listen to some quack who knows nothing of war? They don't know, Trowa, not like we do. There's nothing _wrong_ with you." Duo stood sharply, making his way to the kitchen to dispose of his tea: With his stomach roiling, tea was an unsavoury idea. He stood over the sink, bracing himself against the counter with taut arms. It was wrong, saying soldiers were messed up. It was wrong, Duo realized, for anyone to think Trowa was messed up. Old Trowa had been predictable once, but he had been ruined by some pompous academic who figured little pills could make the memories stop.

Duo's muscles tensed further when he heard Trowa pad into the kitchen.

"I know there's nothing wrong with me," he said quietly. "That's why I tossed the meds." Duo felt Trowa approach him, felt his body heat just behind him as Trowa slid his empty teacup into the sink. "There's nothing wrong with me. And there's nothing wrong with you." Duo nearly jumped when two long-fingered hands rested on his shoulders and gently turned him around.

"You're all over the place, aren't you?" Duo said, a little breathlessly, suddenly facing Trowa. "Is that withdrawal?"

"Perhaps," Trowa said, dropping his hands from Duo's shoulders. "Or maybe it's you. You make me nervous. You want to relive a past I'd rather leave behind." Trowa shrugged slightly, and his posture suddenly sunk. "But I'm willing to hear what you have to say."

* * *

It was hell on earth trying to pull out the couch for Trowa. Even as a team, it took the pair two and half hours to clear enough room to get the bed out. Exhausted, Duo flopped on the pull-out after it had been successfully set up.

"The things I do for you," he huffed, one arm flung across his forehead.

"You're the one who invited me," Trowa replied, sinking onto the bed. "I'm your burden now. I think you're going to have to find a better way of dealing with it than complaining." Duo was getting tired of Trowa's little quips. Trowa trying to be cute - as cute as Trowa could be - was too strange for Duo to wrap his head around.

"I never knew you had such an attitude problem, Trowa. You should get that checked out," Duo chuckled, rolling onto his stomach to look at his companion.

"Tried. Failed. Deal." And he winked. Trowa Barton winked. Duo quickly checked the walls for blood, or anything else that would signal the Apocalypse, but with no omens of doom forthcoming, he merely stared at Trowa in an attempt to understand the man who would be spending the night in his house.

"I don't get you, Trowa," Duo mused. "I never did. But now it's even worse, 'cause you're showing more personality than a crumb of dried bread. You're messing with my head, man." And it was at that moment that the world should have ended, for Duo sputtered and nearly fell victim to cardiac arrest as Trowa, stoic, miserable Trowa Barton laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Hard Days

**Author**: Fluff

**Fandom**: Gundam Wing

**Pairing**: eventual 2 x 3

**Warnings**: Some vague spoilers

**Summary**: Duo decides he can no longer be left alone with his memories. He calls on an old acquaintance to relive a life he both misses and regrets.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is copyrighted to its lawful owners.

**Hard Days**

**Chapter 2**

By Fluff

Duo couldn't sleep. The wind outside was rattling against his windows, threatening a chill Duo was all too familiar with. He stared in annoyance and vague uneasiness through the glass, a forgotten book in his lap, watching naked tree branches flail wildly against a breezy onslaught. His uneasiness rested more with his temporary housemate rather than the wind, but that whistling howl did nothing to calm his anxiety.

Duo had left Trowa to sleep on the lumpy pull-out downstairs, amid a cluttered mess that was wholly Duo. Trowa hadn't even said good-night before nestling himself under a thick comforter and leaving Duo to a sleepless evening full of wind and the spiny silhouettes of barren maples.

Duo thought frantically about his decision to invite Trowa to his home. His guest had acted strangely from the get-go - well, Duo could only assume Trowa had been acting out of character, as Duo didn't know the other particularly well. Perhaps that was his problem. He had assumed that what he knew of Trowa during the war was all there was to know. After all, the likeliness of Trowa Barton having a personality was slim to none, Duo had thought.

But, then again, Duo mused, Quatre liked Trowa, so there must have been something interesting and human about him.

This had always been Duo's problem: He rushed head-first into every situation, blindly trudging forward to whatever his goal might be, damned be the consequences. He was beginning to learn that, perhaps, this was not always the correct route to take.

So, here Duo sat, sprawled in his chilly bay window, watching trees take a brutal, undeserved beating from a cruel wind, and worrying that his choices in life always led to something he really hadn't wished for.

He had only wanted to talk to Trowa, to spill his guts about his nightmares and how he missed Deathscythe, and how sometimes this town was just too damned quiet and isolated to really make him happy. Instead, Trowa had shown some level of resistance and humanity and caught Duo off-guard. And then he had plunked himself down and went to sleep without a word.

Duo was angry, both at himself and at Trowa, and he didn't know how to shake his ire. He figured going downstairs and waking Trowa up with pointless accusations and assumptions would only piss off his guest, so that option was out. Then he considered going downstairs, waking Trowa up calmly and launching into his tales of woe. That idea, Duo mused bitterly, was probably more idiotic than the first. Who knew how Trowa would react to being woken up by someone who he didn't, Duo was quite sure, consider a friend.

A drink would help. Maybe.

Duo set his book down without even marking his page and headed downstairs, looking forward to drinking himself to sleep. Save for the hangovers, rye worked brilliantly as a sleeping aid.

Duo wouldn't say he was necessarily surprised to see Trowa awake and staring out the window at the naked trees and wind, but he certainly wasn't prepared to answer to the raised eyebrows and questioning gaze that turned to him.

"Can't sleep," Duo said after a length, stopped in his tracks at the bottom of the staircase.

Trowa nodded slowly and said, "The wind's keeping me up. I don't know how you can stand it." Duo felt relieved as Trowa so graciously gave him an excuse for insomnia: Of course it was the wind! Who could sleep through that, anyway?

"You'd think I'd be used to it by now," Duo said airily, waving a dismissive hand toward the window.

"You aren't?" Duo grimaced as Trowa violently ripped that excuse of the wind away from him, as quickly as he had offered it.

Instead of replying, Duo walked past Trowa into the kitchen, grabbing a near-empty bottle of moderately-priced rye. Debating on whether or not to use a glass distracted Duo enough not to notice Trowa follow him to the kitchen and lean against the counter opposite his companion.

"Does that actually help?"

"Yes, it actually does," Duo said waspishly, banging open a cupboard to snatch at a chipped mug. "At least it's not pills."

"Oh, those pills never helped me sleep." Duo whipped around to face Trowa angrily, and was infuriated further by the tiny smirk that graced the other's lips.

"Act like how you used to, for God's sake!" Duo yelled, throwing his arms out in exasperation. "I can't take the morbid humour or the bizarre semi-sociability!" Trowa blinked once, twice at Duo's outburst, then crossed his arms over his chest. Defensive?

"And how did I used to act?" Trowa asked quietly, his eyes narrowing defiantly.

"I don't know - indifferent, distant, stoic. You never wasted words, and you never cared."

"Didn't I?" The world seemed to stand still for a brief moment. The pair stared at one another meanly, and neither was prepared to break that gaze. Finally, it was Trowa who dropped his eyes to the floor. "You know nothing about me, Duo. And what you're looking for, what you invited me here for, you won't find." Trowa pushed himself away from the counter with a posture unbefitting of an acrobat and left the kitchen. Duo could only stare at the void Trowa left, the bottle of rye still clutched tightly in his hand. His anger was beginning to ebb away, making way for a new slew of emotions, including bewilderment, betrayal, and that cold feeling of being undeniably alone in the world. Slamming down the bottle on the counter, Duo stormed into the den after Trowa, and the feeling of loneliness won out above all the other nagging emotions as Duo witnessed Trowa packing up his bag.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question, of course. It was quite obvious that Trowa was soon to make himself scarce, and Duo had a creeping suspicion that whatever he said wouldn't change the other's mind.

"As I said, whatever it is you're looking for is not something I can provide." Trowa punctuated the last word by violently cramming his jeans into the bag. "I'd wait until Quatre has a free moment before inviting over the next best thing." Duo sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth.

"Quatre was always too involved," he ground out, his eyes following Trowa's every move. "He couldn't be objective or tell me like it is. He would only listen so far as to give me a hug and tell me everything's okay. But I know everything's not okay, and I think I needed someone else to know what that's like. You certainly seem like that someone else."

"I'm not," Trowa snapped, finally looking up. "I won't be your friend, Duo." And that was that.

* * *

"Asshole," Duo hissed into the icy wind. He had stormed out of the house after Trowa's cruel declaration, having enough mind to slip on a pair of shoes and grab his coat from the hook before bursting through the front door. Myriad nasty words raced through Duo's head as he walked briskly down the empty cobblestone streets. The cold was in his lungs, and he coughed every few steps. But it was good, the cold - it distracted him from the heat in his face and the tremors in his stomach.

He walked and walked, keeping his angry gaze perfectly ahead, plotting of ways to destroy Trowa Barton in a pretend, fanciful world. He walked for almost an hour, but when the coughing became too much and his lungs ached from the cold, he spun on his heel and raced back to his cottage. He figured his visitor would be long gone, leaving the house safely empty.

No such luck.

When Duo burst through the door, coughing and trying to warm his hands on his face, he was met by the sight of Trowa holding out a chipped mug full of steam.

"You'll never win an award for smart choices," Trowa quipped as Duo grabbed the mug from his hands greedily. "I was going to leave, anyway."

"Needed to clear my head," Duo chattered out, glaring daggers at his unwelcome guest.

"And is it clear?" Trowa asked, walking past Duo to shut and lock the door.

"No," Duo said between gulps of tea, "but I plotted out several ways to make you eat your words."

"I dined earnestly while you were away," Trowa replied, pushing Duo gently to the pull-out. "Duo, what I had meant to say is that I can't be the friend you ultimately need. I can't understand what you've gone through because you've led a completely different life from mine. I have enough trouble trying to make heads and tails of my own past." He sat Duo down and followed suit beside him. "So ... I guess I'm sorry."

"For what part?" Duo said heatedly, downing the last of the tea.

"For not being what you need, or thought I could be." It was hard for Duo to stay angry at the sight of Trowa's head hung. He looked pathetic, something Trowa Barton should never have been.

"Listen to what I have to say before you tell me you don't understand me," Duo whispered, afraid to speak lest Trowa suddenly shatter into a million pieces for the sound.

"I honestly don't want to hear what you have to say," Trowa said, meeting his companion's eyes. "I don't want to be reminded of the mistakes we made."

"Trowa, this isn't about you!" Duo huffed. "I didn't invite you here to pass the blame or make you think you had anything to do with my regrets!" He rolled his eyes. "You and Sister Helen would've gotten along just great: Your guilt is untouchable." Again, Trowa just blinked at Duo. Perhaps he was confused by the mention of Sister Helen, or maybe he was internalizing some offense he took to being accused of having a massive sense of guilt. Duo had no clue.

"Manic. You really are," Duo sighed. "Why did you decide to accept my invitation, Trowa? Why the hell did you come here, to spend time with someone you don't really like?" Trowa seemed to consider this for a moment, his lips pursing slightly.

"I can't say I don't like you, Duo, because I don't actually know you. Anything I ever found out about you, really, came from Quatre or Heero's mouths. You and I, we never really interacted. But there always seemed to be a closeness between the five of us." Trowa smiled humourlessly and his eyes were very far away. "We went to Hell with one another, driving forward with only each other as lifelines. We got each other through some scary stuff, and in the end, I think it was that closeness that got each of us out alive." He shrugged, then, as if he wasn't quite sure if what he was saying was at all true. "I feel like I know you, which I obviously don't, but the familiarity's there. That's why I accepted your invitation. It seemed natural, I think, to spend time with you, considering all the time spent in the past. I didn't know what would happen once I got here, but I figured I could use the escape."

"Glad I could help you ditch the pills," Duo muttered, eyes focused on the floor. "Listen: You don't have to stay just because you feel some weird obligation because we happened to win a few wars together. I don't want you here because you think you have to be here. I want you to be here because you care about what I have to say." Duo looked up, expecting Trowa to be frustrated again. Instead, the green-eyed man looked thoroughly defeated.

"If it isn't too much to ask, can I care in the morning? Jet lag."

"Excuses, excuses," Duo said, smiling a little. "Go to bed, and wake up a little less crazy, would you?"

"I'll do my best. But you have to get up; you're in my bed." Duo turned a bit to look behind him, as if finally realizing exactly where he was. With a huge grin directed at Trowa, Duo promptly ditched his coat and shoes and crawled under the comforter.

"You can't hear the wind as much from down here," Duo lied, closing his eyes and turning his back against Trowa's surprised face.

"And I'll bet your bedroom is drafty, too," Duo heard a moment later, and the bed sank in front of him.

"Might as well be outside," he replied, opening his eyes to see Trowa laying a foot away. "I was mad at you earlier," he continued, earning a slight nod from Trowa, "for not saying good-night." Again, Trowa was surprised.

"Good-night, then," Trowa said apologetically.

"Good-night," Duo replied, slipping into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Duo had never pegged Trowa for a restless sleeper. He had always assumed Trowa would sleep like the dead, except maybe for a little snore now and again. Such was not the case. More than once Duo had woken up shivering and had to reach over to snatch some of the comforter back. The night was a battle, Duo cold and awake frequently, and Trowa thrashing one minute, cocooned in comforter the next. Needless to say, neither man felt rested when dawn finally broke.

"You're trying to kill me," Duo greeted Trowa the next morning, dark circles under his eyes. "You tried to give me hypothermia in the middle of the night." Trowa just shrugged, then fell out of bed and trudged to the bathroom.

"Not a morning person then," Duo said to the empty room. He crawled out of bed, wrapping himself in the spoils of comforter as he crept into the kitchen. He wasn't really a breakfast person, but figured Trowa might be - who ever knew? - so he made some toast with raspberry jam and poured two glasses of apple juice.

Trowa wasn't long in the bathroom, and Duo offered him his modest breakfast when he came back to the den. Trowa accepted it with a nod and sat back on the bed, eating quietly.

"I heard from Heero not too long ago," Trowa said matter-of-factly after a large swallow of juice. "He's up on L3 doing some engineering work, or something. He seems content."

"I never figured Heero could ever lead a normal life," Duo mused, stretching out beside his companion. "I thought for sure he'd stay in the military realm."

"Me, too. But Heero was never one to satisfy anyone's assumptions."

"Did you ever like him?" Duo asked.

"Not really," Trowa replied. "But I could relate to him. We had similar lives, similar ideas. Maybe that's why I never warmed up to him."

"But you warmed up to Quatre."

"Quatre's hard to deny," Trowa said warmly. "He's a nice guy. He doesn't judge anyone. And he's persistent." A small smile of remembrance passed over Trowa's lips. "Our first meeting, I treated him like garbage, but he still pushed to be friendly. In the end, I can only thank him for that."

"He really was the catalyst, wasn't he?" Duo asked. "He kept us all together; he made everything seem like it would turn out all right." Trowa nodded his agreement, and they both fell silent again.

"What do you want to do today?" Duo asked suddenly, earning him a raised eyebrow.

"We're not just going to talk about the woes of the world, you mean?"

"Maybe mine, but I thought we could do lunch or something, so you don't feel like you're babysitting, or a therapist."

"I said I'd care in the morning," Trowa replied. "You can talk, if you need to talk. I'll listen. I owe you that much after last night."

"Thank you," Duo said slowly, a little surprised, "but I don't think I'm quite ready to open up that can of worms. Maybe later, when you're feeling safe and don't think I'll start whining."

"Duo, I'll always expect whining. Don't kid yourself." The rest of the morning passed much like this, with strange banter and a new friendliness that left both men comfortable and at ease.

* * *

"Wufei hated me," Duo laughed, sprawled once again on the pull-out after lunch. "I think he thought I didn't take anything seriously. Man, did that rub him the wrong way."

"And I'm so sure you didn't play into that assumption with every ounce of energy you had," replied Trowa, sitting cross-legged beside Duo. "Pissing Wufei off was what really got you through, wasn't it?"

"Am I that transparent?"

"Your cunning and evil are windows into a very twisted soul," Trowa said, feigning devastation.

"That bad, huh?"

"Not at all, but I figured you might appreciate the sentiment." Duo could only shake his head and smile. He was discovering that when he wasn't saying nasty things or threatening abandonment, Trowa was actually a very interesting and pleasant guy.

"I do, thanks." Silence, again; however, this silence was companionable and easy to linger in, like the steam after a soothing shower.

"You're not going to reveal any of your demons to me any time soon, are you?" Trowa asked quietly, seriously.

"Wasn't planning on it, no."

"Why not?" Trowa said, none too confused.

"Because you're here to listen to me, then you'll leave."

"You don't want me to leave now?"

"Quit with the interrogation, man," Duo laughed. "Your company, while unbearably unpleasant at times, has grown on me."

"Like mold."

"Yeah, exactly. I wouldn't mind you sticking around a few more days."

"I could use the break from Catherine," Trowa mused. "I'll stay. But you're going to eventually break down and voice all the horrors of your life. That much I'm sure of."

"Oh, don't you worry, Trowa my friend. You're still in for an earful."

"I can't wait."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Hard Days

**Author**: Fluff

**Fandom**: Gundam Wing

**Pairing**: eventual 2 x 3

**Warnings**: Some vague spoilers

**Summary**: Duo decides he can no longer be left alone with his memories. He calls on an old acquaintance to relive a life he both misses and regrets.

**Author's Note**: This chapter is more of an interlude than anything else. I felt a bit of whimsy in my bones. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is copyrighted to its lawful owners.

**Hard Days**

**Chapter 3**

By Fluff

Trowa, much to Duo's surprise, liked to talk. Always under the assumption that the other was silent, Duo figured filling up the time would be exhaustive. However, Trowa pushed forward with his steady flow of surprises and talked the minutes away.

"But I just couldn't do it," Trowa said to Duo, a lilt to his voice. "Quatre's eyes were just too big and watery - I couldn't refuse." Trowa had been regaling his companion with a story of Quatre dragging him, one shade away from kicking and screaming, to some strange fund-raiser the Winner boy was throwing.

"Did you have to wear a suit?" Duo pressed, grinning.

"Tuxedo." Trowa's lips twisted into a disgusted sneer. "I felt so ridiculously awkward. And once he started introducing me..." Trowa trailed off with rolled eyes. "It was an utter nightmare."

"You just can't say no to him, can you?" By this point, Duo was chuckling sporadically. He was amazed, really, to discover this side of Trowa Barton. Previously, Duo had figured his companion was fairly one-dimensional.

"I don't want to say no to him," Trowa replied softly, quietly, as if to himself.

"You and Quatre, are you... anything?" Duo asked, treading gently into unknown and possibly very scary territory.

"We're friends. I'm unsure of Quatre's sexuality," Trowa said clinically. "And I don't have one."

"You don't have sex?" Duo balked.

"That's not what I said." There was a slight redness staining Trowa's cheeks and nose, but his eyes betrayed nothing. "I just don't classify myself, sexually. It's never really been an important issue."

"All right," Duo replied, for lack of anything else to say. He was confused and surprised and oddly warm for the depth of conversation. "Okay."

"I don't mind talking about it, if that's where we're headed," Trowa said with a half shrug, topping off his teacup with lukewarm tea. The pot had been sitting between them for a good hour, forgotten.

"I'm not about to ask about your sex life," Duo laughed, his voice a little high. "It's not something that would ultimately define you, anyway. You're Trowa Barton: Sex is inconsequential, right?" Duo grinned at his companion.

"What would ultimately define me?" Trowa asked, his eyes a bit wide, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"No clue," Duo replied, waving his hand airily. "Not sure I'd want to know, either."

"The clown part scares you, doesn't it? It's okay, I understand." Now Duo really laughed.

* * *

The cold air was crisp in Duo's lungs as he breathed deeply, and there was not a breeze to speak of. Duo and Trowa walked companionably down the cobblestone streets, their elbows nearly touching, reveling in the gray sunlight straining down to the earth.

"It's not so bad here, without the wind," Duo said lightly as they headed to the Lain Lamb. "And it's absolutely gorgeous in the summer." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder noncommittally: "The view of the ocean is fantastic."

"I must visit you again in the summertime," Trowa replied. "There's nothing more peaceful than walking through the tides when it gets hot."

"Yeah," Duo said softly, "you'll need to come back." They lapsed into silence after that. Duo thought about Trowa's words: He'd come back? Not after what Duo had to say, that was for sure. They hadn't really even talked about anything remotely resembling scary or traumatic, they hadn't even_touched_ the war or the Gundams. Trowa wouldn't want to come back after that.

"For there being no wind, you certainly seem chilled," Trowa said off-handedly as Duo tried to suppress a shudder at his thoughts.

"Still not used to it," Duo replied bitterly as he wrenched open the door to the Lain Lamb without another word.

* * *

Duo knew he was dreaming, but he couldn't wake up. He tried and tried, but to no avail. This nightmare was determined to repeat itself tonight, and Duo could do nothing to stop it.

He stood before Heero Yuy, wearing his old priest's collar, and watched as Zero's pilot fondly caressed a rusty firearm. Heero's eyes were blank and distant as he slowly raised the gun and aimed the barrel squarely between Duo's eyes.

"You don't have to do this," Duo said, seemingly for the millionth time. His voice no longer trembled in the dream, as he had discovered by this point that the nightmare-Heero had no problem blowing his brains out the back of his head.

"It needs to end," Heero said flatly, his finger completely still over the trigger. "It has ended for the others, Duo. And now it needs to end for you, too."

Duo shot straight up in bed as he felt that familiar dream-pain poke him between the eyes, and the echo of the gunshot ricocheted off the sides of his skull as he breathed unevenly. Tonight's was the same as every other night's horrible dream. It was always Heero, uncaring and cruel, killing him over and over. It was always that rusty gun and that sure hand that saw through his nightly demise.

"Fuck," Duo said hoarsely into his dark room. He ran a sweaty hand through his bangs and he debated on whether or not to go downstairs and tell Trowa what he had just been through - what he had been going through for years. A light knock on his door made that decision for him.

"Duo?" Trowa said softly against the door. "I heard a noise."

"Come in," Duo replied, throat strained against fading panic. The door opened slowly and Trowa poked his head around, his hair sleep-mussed and his eyes half-lidded.

"I had a nightmare," Duo said quietly, then shifted over so Trowa could sit on the bed.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Then why am I here?" Trowa wasn't even looking at him. Green eyes were seemingly glued to the faded hardwood floors of Duo's bedroom. Duo followed his gaze.

"I don't know," he replied almost soundlessly, the dream still quivering through his body, pinching at his spine with icy pincers.

"Tell me about it," Trowa said, flopping backward on the bed, his eyes now on the ceiling. Duo didn't move.

"Heero kills me every night," Duo said, his voice distant, detached. It sounded like it was coming from another room. "Every night, he holds up a gun and tells me it's over. Then he shoots me, I feel the pain, and I wake up. It's not, like, a heart-stopping nightmare, or something that freaks you out over the whole day."

"But something about it bothers you," Trowa cut in quietly. "You're losing sleep over it. That may not be the whole day, but it's something." Duo heaved a big sigh then fell back beside his companion.

"It's something," Duo agreed. "It's Heero, I think. It's because it's Heero. I know he doesn't hate me, and I know he wouldn't waste his time to come here to kill me. But it still scares the living shit out of me."

"It's because he was your comrade, maybe. Don't you think you'd have the same reaction were it me holding that gun?"

"No," Duo said, rolling to his side to face Trowa. "It wouldn't be the same. _That_ would freak me out the whole day. I think I'm closer to you now than I ever was to Heero. I know some little things about you that make you human." Duo chuckled ruefully. "I'd have more of a problem with a friend shooting me between the eyes."

"Is that what I am?" Trowa asked, almost whimsically. He turned, too, to face his companion. "Am I your friend, Duo?" And suddenly the room got very small, and it was only the two of them lying on that bed. Duo felt constrained, somehow, and would've liked nothing better than to dash out of the house.

"Aren't you?" Duo asked, having to clear his throat a little. "I mean, I know you're a restless sleeper. I know what you take in your tea. I know that you don't like yourself and you think no one else likes you, either." His little speech earned Duo a set of raised eyebrows.

"You know how I sleep, so that makes me your friend? You have awfully easy standards to live up to, Duo." Trowa smiled a comforting smile. "And I like myself fine. I live with myself fairly easily." He put up a hand to stop whatever Duo was about to say: "And it was Catherine who pushed the medication. I was helpless to stop it."

"Bullshit," Duo ground out. "You could've said no."

"Probably," Trowa replied evenly. "Maybe I thought they would help."

"Help with _what_?" Trowa smirked.

"The nightmares," he whispered. Duo blinked at Trowa, suddenly aware that he, too, was quite human and that he, too, had innumerable flaws. So, Duo did what seemed appropriate in his head: He threw one arm over Trowa, like Solo used to do with him, and promptly went to sleep.

Neither of them dreamed that night.

* * *

Duo woke up shivering. In his grand idea to curl up with Trowa, he had forgotten to put a blanket over either of them.

"It is drafty up here," Trowa said groggily when he awoke to Duo scrambling madly for his comforter. Finally successful in unearthing the covering from beneath Trowa and himself, Duo threw the blanket over them.

"You have no body heat, man," Duo said from between his teeth. "Seriously, who freezes when they're touching someone else? No blood in you!"

"It's all the cold tea I've been drinking," Trowa said around a yawn.

"Wanna go back to sleep?" Duo asked, tucking the blanket behind the other. He looked down at Trowa when he received no response, and saw that Trowa had already fallen back into a dreamless sleep. Duo smiled and laid back down beside his companion, and quickly followed suit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Hard Days

**Author**: Fluff

**Fandom**: Gundam Wing

**Pairing**: eventual 2 x 3

**Warnings**: Some vague spoilers

**Summary**: Duo decides he can no longer be left alone with his memories. He calls on an old acquaintance to relive a life he both misses and regrets.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is copyrighted to its lawful owners.

**Hard Days**

**Chapter 4**

By Fluff

"What's your favourite passage?" Trowa and Duo were still lounging around in Duo's bed, wrapped comfortably in the blankets, staring dutifully at a shabby looking bible.

"'And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works'," Duo replied softly, caressing the cover of the book. "Revelations 20... I forget which lines. I've carried those words with me for a long, long time."

"The God of Death, was it?" Trowa mimicked Duo's touch on the book, and their fingers touched briefly. "You were always comfortable with judging them?" Duo knew to whom Trowa was referring: Those countless, faceless soldiers who stood against the Gundams, prepared to die...

"I didn't judge them," Duo said bitterly, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I couldn't. Judgment is not my domain; punishment is. I leave the whole Heaven-Hell-Purgatory thing to Him." He pointed one finger weakly to the ceiling. He hated where this conversation was going.

"You still believe in God?"

"Yeah, I do. It's Sister Helen's God, so it's my God, too. I always put my faith in her, so in a roundabout way, I always put my faith in Him."

"Do you attend?" Trowa asked quietly, sensing Duo's uneasiness.

"Every Sunday, without fail. And it's funny, you know, because everyone else in that church looks so damned happy to be there."

"But it doesn't make you happy." Duo could have sworn Trowa got closer to him without even moving.

"Fuck, no. I hate going to church. But I do it, and I sit through it, and I pray and pray. Never seems to make a difference, though."

"Maybe you don't let it." Trowa looked to the ceiling, squinting, perhaps trying to make out a celestial silhouette on the plaster. "Maybe you really have lost your faith, and you won't admit it."

"What do you believe?" Duo asked, following Trowa's gaze, trying desperately to steer the conversation away from himself.

"I believe... in myself. I believe I have the power over my own destiny." A ghost of a smile passed over Trowa's lips. "I believe the only person who can rightly judge me is myself. I wouldn't dare even think of what would happen if someone else judged me." A barely perceptible shiver stole up Trowa's spine. "I don't believe in Hell for that very reason. I don't want to be scared to die."

To say Duo was floored would be a grave understatement: He was actually frightened, and perhaps a little sad.

"You're not afraid to die? Seriously?"

"Why is that so surprising?" Trowa asked, turning to look at Duo thoughtfully. "We were soldiers, risking our lives with every battle. You can't seriously tell me that a man afraid to die would be victorious. To fear death is to fear conflict itself. You'd freeze up and fail."

"I'm afraid to die," Duo said in a small voice, meeting Trowa's gaze. "I always have been. I'll never be ready to let go of what I've managed to keep." A strange, hollow silence fell over the two men, and both looked very scared. Finally, it was Duo to break the silence.

"You should be very afraid of dying, Trowa, if only for the fact that you'd piss me off so much, I'd hunt you down in the afterlife and make you regret it." Trowa laughed in response, his tension ebbing away with the light sound.

"You'd_ mourn_ me, Duo? That seems like a strange thing for you do to. I can't picture it."

"I'm always in mourning, my friend," Duo said darkly, picking up the bible. "I mourn all those I couldn't save. I mourn all the hard days that pass me by without any personal victory over the bad memories and regrets." Duo stared hard at Trowa, solemnly holding up the book. "I'd mourn you with the best of 'em." Trowa took the book from Duo's hand and flipped to a random page.

"'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends'. John 15:13," Trowa read breathlessly.

"Don't believe in destiny, huh?"

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

Duo took Trowa to church. It was an awkward event. Trowa didn't understand why he had to keep standing, and the murmurs of 'amen' were starting to get on his nerves. Every now and again, however, Duo would give his hand a reassuring squeeze, as if to say, "It'll be over soon. Just a few more minutes..."

And finally, it was over. As the two men milled out of the small church, an old woman ambled up to them.

"Ah, Monsieur Maxwell, I see we have a new friend," she said cheerfully, clasping Trowa's hands in a warm gesture. "Welcome to our little village. Did you enjoy the service?"

"Very much so, thank you," he replied, looking uncomfortable at her friendliness.

"You must come by the atelier so I may show you the true beauty of our town!" the woman said. "I paint the loveliness of this place, and you do not know splendour until you have put your eyes on my paintings." Trowa looked helplessly to Duo for any sort of assistance.

"Suzanna here is an artist," Duo stated. "She has these awesome pictures of the ocean in the summer. You'd probably really like them, Trowa."

"Then perhaps we will pay you a visit later in the week, Suzanna," Trowa said slowly to the old woman. "Expect us close to the weekend."

"Lovely! I didn't get your name, young man."

"Trowa Barton, ma'am."

"Then, my Monsieurs Maxwell and Barton will grace me with their goodness! I look forward to it." And with a grand hug for each, Suzanna walked away, leaving two very flustered men in her wake.

"So you're staying the week," Duo said flatly, still looking after the old woman.

"If you'll have me."

"Of course."

* * *

Duo wracked his brain, trying very hard to figure out when exactly Trowa Barton had become something important in his life. He let the hot water from the showerhead stream over him while he gazed at the tiles, lost in thought.

Trowa Barton was his friend. And he was turning out to be a very good friend. Duo had never thought of Trowa as stupid, but his academic authority on certain things was certainly surprising. Surprising, and nice.

Their conversations over the past few days had ranged from politics to religion to cooking tips. It was comfortable between the two of them, so comfortable that Duo was beginning to feel unnerved. When Trowa was compassionate or affectionate in his words or reassuring hands on his person, Duo couldn't fathom the idea of who he had thought this man actually was.

It made him angry to think on his previous assumptions.

Turning the water off, Duo stepped gingerly from the shower, wrapping his long hair up in a towel. As he wiped the steam off the mirror and began to shave, he thought of intimate little questions to ask Trowa.

"What is your best memory? What did you think of me back then? What's your favourite colour? What was the greatest love of your life?"

Duo didn't know if he would answer any of these questions. Hell, Duo didn't even know if he could ask them. He felt guilty for all he knew of Trowa thus far: He almost believed he had forced the other man to confess the little details of his life that he would prefer remain private.

Then again, the thought of _making_ Trowa do something he didn't want to do seemed impossible. Except, Catherine had...

Duo was angry every time he thought of Trowa taking medication. He knew that Trowa was stronger than pills, and he secretly resented Catherine for all her worrying and mothering.

A soft knock on the door broke Duo out of his reverie.

"I'm back," Trowa announced, having just returned from the market. "I'll start dinner." After a long discussion earlier in the day about where to eat, a choice of either the pub or the café, Trowa had decided that he would cook, and Duo would like it.

"Be out in a sec!" Duo called through the door, though he was certain Trowa had already gone to the kitchen. He stared at himself in the mirror, clean and shaven, and hated what he saw. Duo had never considered himself attractive by any means, contrary to what some admirers had said of him. Usually, Duo avoided mirrors altogether. But, the thought of cohabiting with a man who always looked so nicely put together drove Duo to actually care a bit about his appearance.

Care, but not like.

* * *

"You're surprised," Trowa laughed, taking a sip of dark ale.

"You never came across as domestic," Duo said, taking another bite of Trowa's marvelous dinner. "Do you sew? 'Cause I have this shirt..."

"I will not sew your shirt," Trowa said indignantly, feigning offense. "What do I look like, your housekeeper?"

"No. If you were my housekeeper, we'd be able to see the floor and wouldn't have to eat on the pull-out."

"Too true." Trowa took a bite of food, chewed thoughtfully, then asked, "What does a housekeeper earn these days, anyway?"

"Free room and board," Duo sneered jokingly.

"Ah, right." Trowa rolled his eyes and picked up a book lying close to the bed. "There."

"Shabby!"

"Good thing I have a career to fall back on."

"I'll say."

The conversation continued on much like this throughout the course of the meal, and when both men were finished and the dishes were cleared away, they laid back on the bed together with their mead.

"What are your nightmares like?" Duo asked conversationally, feeling foggily happy after his third pint.

"Oh, they're here and there," Trowa replied, sipping his fourth. "It's mostly stuff I'm remembering. Blowing up Deathscythe is one of them. I never did apologize for that, did I?"

"Nope. But you're not _actually_ sorry, are you?"

"Not really. I did what I had to."

"Yeah," Duo agreed, a bit disappointed. "I hated you for that." He looked at Trowa miserably. "I loved that Gundam."

"I know. But you got it back."

"Wasn't the same," Duo said, a pout tugging at his lips. "But whatever, I don't want to talk about that. We're talking about you and how messed up your dreams are."

"Right. Well, I have this one reoccurring one where I'm just floating in nothing, cold and in pain. When I talk, there's no sound. And I scream. A lot." Trowa drained the last of his drink, and got up for another. When he returned, Duo looked at him thoughtfully.

"Is that when Quatre blew you up?"

"That would be it," Trowa replied dourly. "I forgave him for that all too easily, I think. Can't stay mad at Quatre." Had Duo been completely sober, he would have caught the bitterness in Trowa's voice.

"And you _never_ slept with him?"

"No, I never did. Didn't even kiss him, though he once asked me to. Poor guy, looked like the ground had been pulled out from under him when I said no."

"Why'd you say no?"

"It's Quatre, right? You can't taint someone like him." Duo nodded gravely, then got up to refill his own drink. Settled again on the bed, he asked, "Had it not been Quatre, would you have kissed him?"

"I don't know. Depends on who it was, I guess. Not-Quatre is a fairly broad range."

"Would you have kissed... Heero?"

"Not if he held a gun to my head and whispered sweet nothings into my ear."

"Wufei?"

"Wufei wouldn't ask that. He's too proud."

"Me?" Duo hid behind his tall glass as Trowa stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I can't imagine why you would ask me to kiss you," he said after a length. Duo shrugged meekly.

"Kisses make people feel better," Duo replied in a tiny voice. He stared into his drink, as if looking for an escape.

"We've had too much to drink," Trowa said. "I think we should go to sleep."

"I think so," Duo said, his cheeks burning. He set his glass on the floor and crawled under the comforter, his back to Trowa. He heard the other man get up to turn off the floorlamp, then felt the bed sink and a cool rush of air as Trowa got under the covers.

"Good-night, Duo," he said. His voice was close.

"Good-night." Duo's stomach jumped as he felt warm breath pass over his ear, then his cheek. He nearly screamed and ran for high heaven when a dry pair of lips settled on his briefly. There was nothing to the world for that one second where lips met and parted - there was no cold, no wind, no bad memories, no good ones... There was only that slight touch, and then nothing, as Duo settled into an uneasy sleep, one full of floating corpses drinking ale, and thin lips smiling at him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Hard Days

**Author**: Fluff

**Fandom**: Gundam Wing

**Pairing**: eventual 2 x 3

**Warnings**: Some vague spoilers, some gore (I only put this here for squeamish readers who shudder at the thought of barely-described disembowelment)

**Summary**: Duo decides he can no longer be left alone with his memories. He calls on an old acquaintance to relive a life he both misses and regrets.

**Author's Note**: This is not the last chapter, but it does finally answer the question as to why Trowa is actually in Duo's company. Things get a little rockier, folks, but there is always a reprieve for the heroes, isn't there?

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is copyrighted to its lawful owners.

**Hard Days**

**Chapter 5**

By Fluff

Duo woke to Trowa flying out of bed and bolting for the bathroom. Confused, Duo sat up straight, on high alert. Then he heard the retching.

Trowa was hungover. Served him right, Duo thought darkly. What the hell happened last night? Duo raised two fingers to his lips thoughtfully, and his stomach jumped as he thought of the chaste kiss.

Too weird.

Trowa returned after a few moments, looking downright miserable. He was pale, his eyes were drawn, and his hands clutched his stomach painfully.

"You don't drink often, do you?"

"Shhh..." was all Trowa had to say as he crawled back into bed, looking altogether pathetic and useless.

"Okay," Duo whispered, smiling humourlessly. "Be right back." Duo slipped out of bed and padded into the kitchen. He rummaged around for anything that would help Trowa's misery, and grinned victoriously as he found the painkillers and antacids. He stopped, however, halfway to the den. Pills.

And now Duo felt sick. Sure, these pills were different. They would actually _help_. And, surely, Trowa would have no problem taking them.

Keeping them down, however, might be a different story. Duo was nearly bowled over as Trowa, again, raced to the bathroom to be sick. Duo followed him, bottles in hand, and leaned against the doorway as Trowa wrapped himself around the toilet. After a moment of watching Trowa's back shake from the force of the dry heaves, Duo filled a cup of water and wet a washcloth, then sat himself behind his companion.

"Sip slowly," Duo whispered, bringing the cup around to Trowa's lips. Trowa obeyed begrudgingly, and groaned when he had to swallow. Duo brought around the damp cloth and wiped down Trowa's forehead and mouth.

"I have something for you," he said quietly, holding out three tablets for the other man. Trowa grabbed the medications greedily and downed them all in one big gulp. Duo feared for the worst as Trowa nearly doubled over.

"Slowly," Duo said, then had to quickly reposition himself so Trowa's head was in his lap rather than on the bathroom floor.

"Sorry," Trowa groaned out, his eyes screwed shut tightly. "Don't drink."

"I can see that," Duo replied softly, wiping Trowa's face affectionately with the cloth. "We'll fix you up, though, don't you worry."

"Not worried," Trowa said, his voice scratchy. "It's you. Not worried."

* * *

It took a while, but Duo managed to get Trowa back to bed. Trowa lay on his side, curled up on himself, pressing against Duo for comfort. 

"Anything else I can do for you?" Duo asked quietly, gently rubbing Trowa's temple with his thumb.

"No," Trowa said, his hands clasped beneath his chin. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Get some rest." Trowa obliged soon enough, and Duo was left with his thoughts.

Trowa had been drunk, that was why he had kissed Duo. That was the only reasonable explanation for last night's bizarre event. Sober, Duo doubted he could have tempted Trowa with all the earthly goods in the world to even consider such an intimate gesture.

Intimate... Kisses weren't always intimate, Duo considered, but last night's, though chaste, had certainly seemed so. Everything between them, at this point, seemed so. The way they touched each other so casually, hands on shoulders, fingers brushing against one another - that was how things had been going, and it had been okay. Then, last night...

But the more Duo thought about it, the more last night seemed okay, too. Strangely enough, it hadn't seemed out of place. Duo smiled at the thought. He had invited Trowa as a convenient ear to shout into, fully planning on sending him off after only an hour or so of emotional ranting. However, he found himself now holding back so Trowa would stay longer, to hear what he had to say. Sure, it wasn't a fair game to play, but Trowa knew the rules, and he didn't seem to mind.

"Unbelievable," Duo said aloud, and was startled when Trowa responded with a sleepy, "What is?"

"Nothing, nothing, go back to sleep," Duo said quickly. He glanced down at his companion, who looked much improved from the first time awake today.

"If I sleep anymore, the headache will come back," Trowa replied groggily, rolling onto his back. "Don't let me near beer again. It does me no favours." Trowa ran a limp hand through his hair and sighed. "None at all."

"Gotcha. No beer." Duo smiled at the sight of Trowa's lethargy and apparent ease at being wilted. Suddenly, Trowa became pale.

"Let's make that no alcohol."

"Ah, the fog of last night is lifting," Duo said impishly. "Don't worry about it. I'm not." Trowa turned shocked, ashamed eyes to him.

"Don't worry about it?" he said indignantly. "What I did was - "

" - Fine, actually. It didn't bother me." It probably should have, though, Duo thought.

"Didn't bother you..." Trowa sounded flabbergasted. He shook his head defiantly and sat up, his eyes now angry. "I want it to bother you, Duo."

"Why?" Duo's voice was, if nothing else, completely genuine.

"It was out of place," Trowa hissed, "and inappropriate. A mistake."

"A mistake because you were drunk, or a mistake because you really didn't want to?" Duo raised his eyebrows at Trowa. "Are you angry that you sank so low?" Duo's question hung heavily in the air between them. Neither moved, nor even seemed to breathe. Duo suddenly wished to be outside, wrapped in that cold wind that always managed to steal his breath away - he yearned for a solitude only dark winter days could provide, enveloped in a chill that never actually went away.

"I need to go," Trowa said after a length, his eyes not quite meeting Duo's.

"Back to Catherine," Duo sneered, his lungs achingly cold. "Back to nothing. What's your purpose there, huh, Trowa? You said you don't have one." Duo snatched his companion's wrist angrily, forcing the other to glare at him in surprise. "You have one here. You can explain to me who the fuck you think you can take me for. You can tell me why the hell you don't think I'm good enough for your twisted rationalizations."

"I owe you nothing," Trowa bit back, his green eyes dangerous. Though his body appeared weak from dehydration, the rage in his face was enough to make any man believe Trowa Barton was capable of causing great physical harm.

"Like hell you don't!" Duo roared, pushing Trowa's wrist back toward him, tumbling the other man onto his back once more. Duo held Trowa's arm firmly across his own chest and loomed over him. "I'm your escape. I'm your _excuse_. You owe me. You owe me a _lot_."

"I've never held a debt to you! Look at you, Duo: You're falling apart at the seams and you want someone to make it _better_. I can't - I won't. If you want peace of mind, go to Quatre; if you want a firm kick in the ass, track Heero down and piss him off. You will get _nothing_ from me." And reality finally set in. Duo wasn't quite sure how to describe the feeling in his stomach, other than a bland nausea that stung every time he breathed. His limbs suddenly felt hollow, and that cold intensified.

"You think it's about you," Duo said, his voice empty.

"It isn't?" Trowa's anger had, if nothing else, intensified.

"You think," Duo laughed hollowly, "that that kiss was about you. Right? You think that now that we've crossed some weird boundary, I'll never let you leave. You think I've found all the fucking solace in the world right in you.

"I haven't. In fact, I'm not liking you very much right now; if you wanna leave, leave. I'm not going to stop you." Duo let go of Trowa's arm slowly, as if releasing a butterfly. Trowa didn't move an inch.

"I don't get you," Trowa said dangerously, his eyes following Duo's every move as the other stood, defeated, and started throwing Trowa's things haphazardly into his bag.

"I don't think I want you to."

"Understood." Trowa got up slowly, his body still aching. He silently moved to help Duo pack up his things. Both flinched when their hands brushed together.

"You know," Trowa began miserably, his attention seemingly focused on neatly folding a sweater, "my twisted rationalization for last night wouldn't satisfy you. You'd accuse me of something anew, and we'd still be here."

"We're here, anyway, so try me," Duo sneered, huffily balling a pair of socks.

"You said kisses make people feel better. I suppose that's what I was trying to do." Duo balked.

"And we're arguing about _that_."

"Of course we are!" Trowa threw his hands up in exasperation. "Nothing I do makes anything any better, Duo. We talk, we sleep in the same bed, we relive nightmares with each other. And after all that, you still won't tell me what you _want_!" The sweater fell to the ground, forgotten. "You said what happened last night didn't bother you. The only reason I can think of for that is that you've found something in me that isn't actually there. I'm not anyone's hero." Trowa's words seemed to bleed the anger from his body, and now he merely looked like a marionette with only one string intact. "What do you want from me, Duo, really? What is it that you think I can give you?"

"Memories," Duo said hoarsely, staring at Trowa's hands. "You can let me remember, and not feel guilty for it." Their eyes met, finally.

"But you don't want to remember, Duo."

"Oh, I do," Duo replied, lightly tossing the socks in the bag. "I want to relive something that scares me. But that's just it, you know? It _scares_ me. It's not really something you can even steel yourself for, 'cause it's inside of you. And," he said quietly, his eyes shutting, "I don't want to scare you."

"Not even death scares me," Trowa said lightly. "You think you could?" Duo opened his eyes to Trowa smiling. Their friendship, again, had taken another jittery step in a strange direction.

"I honestly don't know," Duo said. "I don't want to. Quatre, I know I would... but maybe not you."

"Then let's start this again. I'll make some tea. This time, Duo, you're going to talk."

* * *

Duo noticed that his thumbs didn't really tremble the way the rest of his hands did. They seemed grounded to some strange reality that he couldn't quite grab hold of again. He couldn't push past his words hard enough to be safe again. 

Duo told Trowa about the other nightmares, the ones where Hilde had been disemboweled by four little Gundams, screeching the whole time her intestines were strewn about. He told him about the one where Quatre's eyes were white and he couldn't see Duo, so he kept walking past him - and he knew, right down to his fucking core, that Quatre's blindness was somehow his fault.

Then he told Trowa about the worst - the nightmare that had ended when he had woken himself up, screaming. That damned nightmare that had kept him in his house for a week, had stolen his appetite for six days, had made him cry after nearly fifteen years of being dry. He told Trowa how he had called Quatre, nearly begging him to come visit. And then Duo told Trowa that Quatre had needed to refuse, and _that_ was why Trowa was here.

"What was it about?" Trowa asked quietly, not daring touch the trembling Duo. Duo had his braid clasped tightly in his hands, whose thumbs stayed still, and breathed shallowly for the fear and disgust of the memories.

"Us," Duo said, his voice eerily steady. "The five of us. In a graveyard. Our names were on the tombstones." Duo swallowed with difficultly and dropped his braid, then put his hands flat on the floor, as if pushing the memory down. "But we were all there. None of us were in the ground.

"We didn't look hurt, either. And we just kinda stared at each other, not really knowing why we were there. After a while, Wufei collapsed. Like, he just dropped, like his strings were cut or something. We all kinda looked at him, not knowing what was happening. Then it happened to Heero, too, so Quatre started to look worried." Duo's words came faster, now. "He was the first to speak. He said, 'Shouldn't we do something? They're dying.' Then you came back with 'They're already dead' or something and then you dropped.

"So it was just Quatre and I, right, and we were staring at each other, just kinda looking, not knowing what to do. I asked him why this was happening, why we were dying. Then Quatre got weird, you know, like he wasn't Quatre anymore. His eyes got real mean and he grinned at me - but not like how he usually does. It was a horrible smile, like the Devil was inside him, had killed him and was using his body like a shell or something.

"'Duo,' he said, 'you did this. You killed us all.' And then he dropped, too. I was alone. So, I started running. Didn't have any place to go, really, but I needed to get away from the dead bodies." Duo's voice began to tremble, and Trowa knew he was once again in the nightmare. "So I'm running and I trip on something." Trowa didn't miss the switch to present tense. "It's Heero. He's all bloody and he's missing an arm and he has a bullet hole in his head. I get down on my knees and start yelling at him - I don't know what I say. Then I shake him, and I can smell the blood, and it starts to burn my skin. I can _feel_ it, you know? Like it's real...

"He doesn't wake up, 'cause he's not sleeping!" Duo laughed tightly. "He's dead, so he doesn't wake up. I run again, and I come across his arm. It's holding Wufei's head. The expression on Wufei's face is surprised, like he didn't see it coming. I throw up - weird, 'cause I don't remember ever throwing up in a dream - and keep going. Deathscythe is up ahead, so I know it's safe there." Trowa concentrated hard on Duo's words to follow the disjointed account.

"There's blood all over Deathscythe. I think it's yours and Quatre's, 'cause both of you are lying by his feet, crumpled like little bits of paper. Your eyes are open, but they're not empty. I don't get near either one of you because I don't want to know why you're all bloody and dead." Duo took a shuddering breath, and Trowa had no choice but to reach for him, his steady hand on Duo's arm a small comfort.

"You're dead, Trowa," Duo whined, grasping Trowa's hand in his. "And I did it. I didn't actually attack you, but I let it happen."

"I'm not dead, Duo," Trowa whispered, taking Duo into his arms. "None of the others are, either."

"I could have stopped it. I could have ended it long ago. The self-destruct... I could have stopped it."

"Stopped what, Duo?" Trowa had one hand on the back of Duo's head, holding the heavy weight of his braid off his back. One burden, Trowa figured, was enough to bear.

"The God of Death." Trowa vaguely recalled Duo referring to himself with the macabre title.

"You're no such thing," Trowa said softly into Duo's ear. "You're just you. You're just Duo." Trowa held his companion out at arms' length and sighed quietly when he saw Duo's panic-stricken eyes.

"You don't know what I've done, Trowa," Duo whispered. "You don't know."

"And I don't want to know." Duo flinched. "But, you don't want to know about my sins, either. It doesn't make us better people, Duo, by confessing. It won't make you feel better to relive something that honestly makes you believe you're a terrible person. Memories are over, they're done with. Dwell on the pleasant ones, but don't waste your life thinking on things that you can't change. What you may have done in the past was lives and lives ago, Duo. We're different people now. We're okay now.

"You're a good person, Duo. I like you. You've shown me kindness and compassion. You're not a murderer: You're an ex-soldier who did what he had to do in the heat of battle. You haven't harmed me nor any of the others. We're fine. _You're_ fine." In the back of his mind Duo thought fondly of how Trowa Barton continued to surprise him again and again. It was nice.

"You're gonna leave," Duo said helplessly, his eyes still wide with the lingering cold of fear.

"I can stay, if you'd like. I don't think you would enjoy your own company much right now, anyhow."

"Stay," Duo said, after a length. He gave Trowa a thoughtful look. "You always say the right thing."

"I do _not_," Trowa laughed, his voice light. "It seems I've been saying all the wrong things since I got here. I'm not the comforting type." Trowa gave a half shrug. "I'm bad with people."

"You're not bad," Duo said, regaining some of his bearings. "You're just ... _you_. There isn't a word to describe your awkward niceness."

"I don't know if I should thank you for that," Trowa said with a smile. He leaned in and gave Duo a quick hug. "But I'll take it." He grabbed a cloth that was lying on the floor by the bed and wiped gently at Duo's face. "You're a mess, my friend."

"And you have the unsightly duty of cleaning me up," Duo replied, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"I'll take it. Beats dodging knives."

"So I'm better than the circus now?" Duo now grinned at his companion, who continued to wipe his face.

"I suppose," Trowa said slowly, tilting his head at Duo. "You only cause me emotional anguish instead of physical agony."

"You won't lose an eye with me!"

"Don't speak too soon," Trowa warned with a smile. "Stranger things have been known to happen."

"Oh, I know." And Duo leaned in, and suddenly they were kissing. It wasn't the same kiss as last night: It wasn't an escape from horror or an apology for a hard life lived. It was a sweet gesture that said thank you in a million different ways.

Neither pulled away for a long, long time.


End file.
